chapter sixteen
916 Words
Chapter Sixteen
The night whispered secrets.
Sienna stirred in the darkness of her bedroom, the soft silk sheets brushing against her skin as the moonlight pooled in through the large windows. She hadn’t changed out of her dress yet—the fire in the library, the weight of Damien’s last words still lingered too heavily in her chest.
Just stay.
That single sentence replayed like a song stuck in her mind, haunting her in ways she didn’t expect.
She was still trying to understand it—what it meant, why it had sounded so raw, so unlike him. Damien Blackwood didn’t ask. He ordered. He demanded. But last night... his voice had cracked, just a little. Enough for her to feel it.
A knock at her door made her sit up sharply.
It wasn’t loud. Just... hesitant.
“Come in,” she said, voice hoarse from sleep.
The door creaked open. Damien stepped in, not in his usual sharp suit but in a black long-sleeved shirt and slacks, the top two buttons undone. His hair was tousled, like he’d run his hand through it too many times. There was no mask tonight—just quiet eyes and something vulnerable behind them.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle.
“You didn’t.”
A silence stretched between them. Sienna watched him, waiting. Damien stepped closer, slowly, as if giving her time to stop him. She didn’t.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, standing a few feet from her bed. “Thought maybe you couldn’t either.”
Her lips curled slightly. “You came to check?”
He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. But it was. For a man like Damien, everything was a big deal if it involved emotions.
She reached over and switched on the bedside lamp. A golden glow bathed the room, softening the sharp lines of his face. He looked... human. Less like a storm. More like a man trying to find his way out of the dark.
“Do you want to sit?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
He didn’t answer. Just walked to the side of the bed and sat—not on the edge, but close enough that their knees nearly touched.
“I keep thinking about what I said to you,” Damien murmured. “In the library.”
Sienna nodded, her heart thudding quietly. “I’ve been thinking about it too.”
“I meant it,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “Every word.”
She exhaled, finally. “Then don’t take it back in the morning.”
His jaw clenched. “I won’t.”
Another silence. But this time, it wasn’t cold—it was warm, tentative, like the space between two people learning how to breathe near each other without the past choking them.
Damien looked down at her hands. “You don’t flinch around me anymore.”
“I used to.”
“I know.” He looked up again, and this time his gaze was... soft. Unbelievably soft. “You’re brave. I don’t say it enough.”
“You don’t say anything,” she replied with a faint smile.
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Fair.”
Without thinking, she reached out—just barely—and touched his hand resting near his thigh. He looked at her fingers on his like it was foreign, like no one had ever touched him gently before.
“Sienna,” he breathed, the sound of her name unraveling something inside her.
She didn’t move her hand. “You asked me to stay. So I’m staying. But you have to meet me halfway.”
Damien stared at her. Then, carefully, he turned his hand and laced their fingers together.
It felt electric.
“I don’t know what to do with this,” he said softly, honestly. “With you.”
“Just don’t push me away.”
“I won’t,” he said, voice low. “Not tonight.”
She didn’t realize how badly she needed to hear that until the words settled in her bones.
He shifted slightly, raising their entwined hands to his lips. His kiss was gentle—just a brush against her knuckles—but it sent heat shooting through her body. Her breath hitched.
Then Damien looked into her eyes, closer now, his thumb tracing slow circles over the back of her hand. “You’re the only thing in this house that feels real.”
Sienna’s heart stuttered.
She didn’t say a word. Instead, she leaned in—slowly, testing the moment. And Damien met her halfway.
The kiss was soft. Devastatingly slow. It wasn’t hungry or rushed. It was hesitant, careful—like they were both afraid of breaking the fragile thing blooming between them. His hand cupped her cheek, hers curled into his shirt, and the world fell quiet.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads touched.
“I should go,” he whispered.
“Stay,” she murmured, echoing his own words back to him.
He hesitated, then stood up—but instead of leaving, he walked around the bed and climbed in on the other side. Not to touch her. Not to take anything. Just to be close. To exist beside her.
They didn’t speak again.
But in the dark, with her head resting against his shoulder and his hand finding hers beneath the covers, something changed.
And neither of them wanted to take it back.
- Writer
